


Wedding Bells Are Breaking Up That Old Gang of Mine

by kreekey



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Bittersweet, Dialogue Heavy, Dinner, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Late Night Conversations, Married Couple, Multi, Old Friends, One Shot, POV First Person, POV Paul, Paul is in love, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Romantic Fluff, a hint of it - Freeform, but I don't push it, but also kinda complicated between john and paul, slight drunkeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kreekey/pseuds/kreekey
Summary: That title may sound a bit melancholic given the real context, but all things must come to an end. It’s funny to see the person you’ve known your whole life only begin to settle into themself. There’s a moment of fondness leading up to the split.Is ‘fondness’ the right word?It’s pretty amicable, anyway.Two different kinds of couples have a night together. It’s like a dinner party, except the (Ono) Lennons aren’t really sure how to throw a dinner party. Conversation is had. John entertains the idea of a soon-to-be Beatle breakup. Paul refuses to get his head drilled into. Everyone has found somebody to love.
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Yoko Ono, Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Wedding Bells Are Breaking Up That Old Gang of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Man, how do you write the Beatle girls?
> 
> And I really be writing Paul McCartney in first person even though I have no clue what I’m doing smh
> 
> Their dinner is kind of weird because that's how people described John and Yoko’s lifestyle -”a diet of champagne, caviar, and heroin” - at 34 Montagu Square… which I forgot they stayed at while recording the White Album in 1968, even though John mentions his honeymoon and the solo album McCartney which took place a year later. But this is a fic. I also cut out the heroin part so - 
> 
> This just spilled out of my keyboard and I don’t know why I wrote it. I guess I wanted a “Look! Paul and John have outgrown each other! But they can still be chill!” vibe but I don’t know if I achieved that at all. It's kind of hastily edited and not planned at all don’t @ me. My first one-shot except I didn’t know how to end it. I originally typed it in Comic Sans.
> 
> Based on the real-life story of John inviting Paul to get a hole drilled into his skull. As well as Paul's praises of his wife during press releases for his 1970 album, McCartney.

John’s apartment - I guess it’s Yoko’s now, too - was already littered. It was no different from the closets we used to live out of in Hamburg, except this one must’ve cost a few thousand pounds. They had just moved in and half the floorboards were hidden underneath newspaper clippings, clothing, and dirty plates. At least they had the courtesy to move some of the piles against the wall before we came over.

Not that it eased Linda at all. We sat with our knees bumping against each other and hand over hand. I whispered sweet jokes to her in the living room as we waited - I don’t know why I whispered. It was only John’s flat. His home. It didn’t feel like a home, of course. It felt a bit like an alley you might find yourself in after a night of drinking. Funny, considering I used to live in this same building a couple of years ago. Things have changed since then.

Yoko’s bare feet padded in from the kitchen. She smiled in a way that rivalled Mona Lisa, saying, “The food is ready.”

I took Linda’s hand as we stood and followed Yoko down the short hall. She walked with care, making every step deliberate. It all felt very formal for a visit to an old friend’s house.

We stepped into the dining room and found John sat cross-legged on one of the dining chairs. There was a smile underneath all that hair he’s grown out. Two sturdy seats sat across from each other at an intimate wooden table. He beckoned us with the signature Lennon confidence, saying, “Come, sit.” Yoko took his hand and he guided her into the seat beside him. They reminded me of one of those old couples who’ve known each other for decades.

As we settled into our seats, Linda and I gave each other a glance after noticing the food. It could barely be considered dinner. An opened bottle of champagne stood proudly in the centre, surrounded by plates of crackers and half-hazardous dollops of caviar. There was a bowl of a thousand different kinds of foreign cooked vegetables dressed with pepper. At least now I could be sure there was food in John’s house. He seemed so fragile and thin nowadays. Of course, he’s the same fiery Lennon he’s always been. I think.

John reached out for a cracker and he leaned on the table, saying, “Me and Yoko have got ourselves on this macrobiotic diet. I hope you like it, it’s good for you. Gets rid of toxins and all that.” He stuffed his mouth with a biscuit.

“‘‘ _Macrobiotic_ ’?” I laughed. “I still remember you sneaking Eric’s chocolate at the studio.”

He smiled, “That’s the old me, Paul.”

“We were at the studio this time last year,” I reminded him. That nice familiarity that always came to me whenever I visited John began to creep up. “Eric was yelling at George because his truffle was gone, but you fessed - eventually - that it was you all along.”

“Sometimes John will still slip and eat a chocolate bar,” Yoko said airily with that same enigmatic smile, hands folded in her lap. “But the point is that it’s very healthy. We eat grains and vegetables, you know, that kind of thing. It’s very, very good. That's why we do it.”

John hummed chirpily, teasing us with his raised eyebrows. Linda put on a weak polite smile for them before staring at the plates. She rarely knew what to say to Yoko. I mean, we know she's mostly harmless. She's just from another world. I grabbed Linda’s glass and poured the champagne, nudging her for reassurance. She scooted her chair closer to mine until our knees started bumping again.

We ate sparingly and drank freely. John and I made conversation about nothing memorable, catching up on our intertwined lives. Linda would chime in with something smart before returning to listening. Trying to keep up with a conversation with John makes anyone a bit disquiet. Yoko would often watch, occasionally regaling us with an explanation for something we didn’t know we wondered. Her ideas always had John turning in admiration or ferocious agreement. As the drinks kept flowing, I even began to seriously consider some of their proposals.

“Wait, d’you remember the letter I sent from Amsterdam, Paul? You fancy getting the trepanning thing done?” John brought up after a mention of their peace demonstrations.

Linda and I gave each other a look. John’s letters during his honeymoon were often illegible. Even when you could make the words out, he never made sense.

“You kind of have a hole bored into your skull and it relieves the pressure,” John explained in an instant upon seeing our expressions. He seemed eager, almost bouncing in his chair. My wife gaped at me, eyes widened. I shrugged. It was kind of amusing.

Linda spoke straight to Yoko the first time this night and gawked, “Hold on, do you believe this?”

“We’re always looking for new ways to expand our consciousness,” Yoko replied without the slightest inflection in her voice. I swear I could tell her smile opening up the slightest bit. She giggled softly, “But John is more focused on this method than I am.”

It’s almost startling to hear her laugh. Yoko turned into a sliver less of a mystery. Linda and I made eyes at each other, lips curling upwards. Before we knew it, we were dissolving into laughter. I almost forgot about the people across the table. Linda looked lovely, just like herself, a blush colouring her face as she cracked up without a care. Yoko tittered along shyly, gazing at her husband.

John continued with a wide grin. He gripped the table and leaned in closer. “No, this isn’t a joke! All you’d have to do is just bore a little hole in your skull and it lets the pressure off. We met a doctor in Amsterdam, and he has a paper on it. A scientific paper, a real one. You could get a permanent high from this!”

Linda leaned over and laid her head on my shoulder with a content sigh. It could've been a tired one. Wrapping my arm around her and pulling her closer, I replied, “C’mon, Johnny. You must be joking.”

“No, no! Listen, let’s go next week. We know a guy who can do it, and maybe we can all do it together!” John gestured with his hands like he was bursting with genius ideas. I half-expected him to shout ‘Eureka!’.

“Look, you go and have it done, and if it works, great,” I grinned. “Tell us about it and we’ll all have it.” Linda hummed in agreement.

John threw his hands up, saying, “Oh, fine, fine. You’re too cynical about things like this - ”

“Thank God,” I interrupted. Linda almost guffawed.

He gestured to me with another cracker, “You’re no fun anymore, Paulie.”

My wife relaxed against my body, radiating warmth, and looked back across the table. It felt sweet coupled with my drunk buzz. She said, “I just think that there's so much crap that you've got to be careful of.”

“But John’s more open to things like that,” I winked at him, wanting my cheeky smile to push his buttons. His eyes narrowed at mine, though the rest of his face stayed nonchalant. The room turned silent and I realized all eyes were on John, waiting for his usual witty response. Yoko looked at him, unfocused, not a hint of a frown on her face. John bounced his leg in thought.

“Well, whether you believe it or not...” John finally said, a degree colder than usual. “Either way, I don’t resent ye for it - I don’t resent your husband, Linda,” he turned to her. “I feel sorry for him.”

Linda didn’t let her surprise show. John Lennon could catch most people off guard in a snap - not me. She began to sputter before I cut in heartily, “That’s very kind of you, Lennon!”

John chuckled, “No, really, McCartney. If you say no, you mean no. It’s very kind of you not to call me fuckin’ crazy.”

“It's just not something I would like to do, Johnny. But you let me know how it is,” I said, squeezing Linda closer out of habit. John nodded, turning his eyes elsewhere as if it's all exasperated him.

“I think John wanted to put some pressure off. For both of us, you know,” Yoko said. Her voice was smooth and delicate, almost jarring compared to the madness a few moments prior. “We are the only people going through the same problems.”

I wondered, ‘What do you say to that’?

But John seemed to know. John understood her, something most people couldn’t do. I’ve been aware of her for three years now. I never really got on that well with her.

“We’re in the same position. Our fame, y'know, the people we know. And _The Beatles_ … for now, I mean. Until you release that album of yours, Paul.” John turned his eyes back on mine.

“Well, the recordings’ going well,” Linda said with a sense of nerves.

“What do you do in the album? It’s refreshing to see another woman working on the album of a Beatle. And you know, when Beatles are recording, there's very few people around, especially no women,” Yoko said. John gave me an empty look before returning to face his wife. Memories of asking Yoko to go sit in the back of the studio - an act I used to try to hide from John like a dirty affair - flooded our minds. I ignored that thought.

“Strictly speaking she harmonizes,” I answered. As I stared down at her I found myself admiring every feature - as always.

I continued, “But of course it’s more than that. She’s a shoulder to lean on, a second opinion... and a photographer of renown.” She glowed when I kissed the top of her head. I looked back up at the Ono-Lennons, beaming with pride.

“Cor, replaced me already?” John jested. I made an affirming sound, taking another sip of champagne with my free hand.

“Yer killing us, y’know. The band. I don’t understand. I’m not ashamed of The Beatles,” John shook his head. “I did start it all!”

“Well, I'm doing what you and Yoko were doing last year. I understand what you did, now.” I said. It’s stupid to defend it. I shouldn’t have to, it’s only an album.

“Will Paul and Linda become a ' _John and Yoko'_?” John used that mock-deep voice, the kind he uses when he jeers at the media.

“No. They will become Paul and Linda.” My wife melted in my touch as I wrapped my other arm around her. She looked up at me with a smile.

“Hmm,” John half-lidded his eyes. “Good luck to yer.”




We went on with the evening, skipping over any unmentionables. Linda and I would try to, anyway. John and Yoko didn’t mind. It went well, I imagine. I love them - I know that I love John. I respect him, at least. And John loves her, and there’s nothing to be done for it.

They waved us goodbye at some point early in the morning. As we walked onto the street, Yoko stood with John in the flat’s doorframe, hand on his chest. His arm snaked around her waist. They were so small, so compact. Like they made their own bubble. Impenetrable. There was ‘John and Yoko’ and there was the rest of the world. All that ‘interconnectedness of the whole human race’ (or whatever's said these days) was hard to sense sometimes. Really, though, they must be in love. I can't say there's anything wrong with that.

I gripped Linda’s hand, leading us away. Our steps were uneven, unsure, but we leaned on each other throughout the cold walk back to Cavendish.

“'Trepanning' - was he really sitting there saying we should do this?” Linda muttered in disbelief. When she looked up at me, there was a smile on her face. She was glad to say what she wanted, especially with me.

I laughed, “Well, John always wanted to jump over the 'cliff' - “

“The 'cliff'?” she questioned. It wasn’t in the way some girls used to question me, twirling their hair as if they still didn’t know anything, only to flirt. Linda wasn’t coy. Linda knew who she was, and she knew me.

“Y’know, the cliff,” I said, confident that the explanation will be a tad silly. “The cliff - going full tilt. He once said that to me. 'Have you ever thought of jumping?' I said, 'Fuck off. You jump, and tell me how it is.'”

Her shoulders shook from laughter, still gazing up at me.

“That’s basically the difference between us.” I motion with my head. “I love John, and respect what he does - though he doesn’t really give me any pleasure. Not with his, y’know, kooky ideas. I get tired from it all.”

“‘Tired’? Oh, Paul.” She squeezed my hand.

“Sorry. I don’t like it either, getting tired.” I sighed. “It makes it all harder.”

“It’s allowed, you know,” she said, sinking into me. “Allow yourself to be tired.”

A smile warmed up onto my face. I nodded gently because she was right.

Linda continued to relax against me, the way I found myself letting go of my worries when I was with her. It felt silly, being in love and feeling like you were 16 and discovering that giddiness again. But it was perfect. She’s the perfect thing to end the night with after a dinner like that. Just the person I need - that I always need. Not that the Ono-Lennons aren’t pleasant - but they’ve turned a hint unfamiliar. They were something that I didn’t want to handle. Linda lifted it all away.

We continued stumbling down the road, mumbling sweet conversation to each other. Reminiscing about the night we just had, giggling at old jokes again. She let go of my hand and wrapped herself around my arm, entangling us further. I wouldn't mind if this moment lasted forever. I’d go down any path with her. It didn't matter, because she would always be there; she's a shoulder to lean on, a second opinion, and someone who believes in me - constantly. I didn't know how much I needed that.


End file.
